


On a Wing and a Prayer

by monday7112



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, M/M, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 11:29:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monday7112/pseuds/monday7112
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for the Tumblr SassySanta Christmas Exchange.</p>
<p>Recipient: Amber/startoutlikeasailor</p>
<p>Prompt 3: He wraps his wings around you when you have sex. they’re warm and made of light and make you feel safe like nothing else in the world, like you never thought anything could. (he’s the exact opposite of luci, who liked to smother you with his wings, and suddenly you know that this is real. ?) (OR FLUFF.)</p>
<p>This is largely unbeta’d, for which I apologize. My friend Rose took a look at it and made some suggestions but I ran out of time. I will repost if I have a chance to make some changes but I wanted to get this up on time. I went with the third prompt, which I was only minorly successful at capturing in the fic and I…really, really, REALLY hope you enjoy it.</p>
    </blockquote>





	On a Wing and a Prayer

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Tumblr SassySanta Christmas Exchange.
> 
> Recipient: Amber/startoutlikeasailor
> 
> Prompt 3: He wraps his wings around you when you have sex. they’re warm and made of light and make you feel safe like nothing else in the world, like you never thought anything could. (he’s the exact opposite of luci, who liked to smother you with his wings, and suddenly you know that this is real. ?) (OR FLUFF.)
> 
> This is largely unbeta’d, for which I apologize. My friend Rose took a look at it and made some suggestions but I ran out of time. I will repost if I have a chance to make some changes but I wanted to get this up on time. I went with the third prompt, which I was only minorly successful at capturing in the fic and I…really, really, REALLY hope you enjoy it.

Castiel doesn’t use his wings the first time they’re together. Sam’s not really sure why. Maybe it takes too much concentration, and he can’t focus on that and on making love to Sam. Maybe he’s afraid Sam won’t like it. Maybe he’s just embarrassed for some reason Sam can’t fathom. Maybe sharing that part of himself isn’t something Castiel does with just anyone, and they just aren’t there yet, in the trust department. Whatever it is, Castiel keeps them firmly hidden from view and Sam isn’t comfortable asking.

Castiel also doesn’t use them the next time. Or the next time. Or the time after that. 

Eventually, Sam’s curiosity gets the better of him and he asks Castiel. Castiel’s answer is so typically Castiel that it almost makes Sam laugh. “Why would I use my wings, Sam?” he says matter-of-factly. “Sex is a human activity, is it not? You don’t have wings and your performance in the bedroom is...”

Castiel trails off, a slight blush darkening his cheeks. Sam can’t help but grin.

“Is what?” he asks, standing up and pulling Castiel to his feet. He presses his lips to Castiel’s, biting at the bottom lip gently, his tongue forcing Castiel’s mouth open. Castiel responds without hesitation, his mouth opening to invite Sam in, his tongue darting out to meet Sam’s, tangling with his as his hands wrap into Sam’s hair, forcing the kiss deeper, his fingers fumbling with Sam’s buttons as Sam reciprocates, trench coat, shirt, tie and pants all hitting the floor in succession. Sam’s clothing is similarly discarded and Castiel pushes Sam down on the bed. Sam loses himself completely to the sensation of Castiel’s cock against his, the feel of Castiel’s hand wrapping around their cocks, pulling insistently even as his lips are mouthing at Sam’s collar bone, sucking and biting. He’ll have a bruise later, he knows but the thought of walking around with Castiel’s mark on him just drives Sam even more wild and he’s coming hard and fast against Castiel as Castiel whispers in his ear how beautiful he is, how wonderfully human Sam is like it’s something to be fucking worshipped. When it’s over, when they’re laying in each other’s arms and Sam’s falling asleep, he’s surprised to realize that he doesn’t care at the moment that Castiel keeps his wings hidden. 

Sam lets the subject drop for awhile. Maybe he’s too embarrassed to tell Castiel that he wants to see them, wants to touch them, wants to thread his fingers through them and see if they are as soft and silken and sensitive as he suspects that they are. Maybe he doesn’t want Castiel to think that what they have together isn’t enough for Sam because that’s just not the case at all. Or maybe they just aren’t there yet in the trust department for Sam to bring up the subject again. After all, he did start the Apocalypse not too long ago and that’s the kind of thing that anyone would have trouble getting past. Sam’s not even sure why Castiel is with him to begin with and he doesn’t want to press the issue.

It really is enough for him that Castiel chooses to be with him. He doesn’t need to see Castiel’s wings. 

* * *

Sam used to wonder whether all angels were as reticent to use their wings around humans as Castiel was. Not any more. He’s been trapped in the cage with Lucifer for what seems likes centuries and he’s long since learned that one of Lucifer’s favorite forms of torture involve the power in his wings. His aren’t sensitive, Sam’s learned that by biting, thrashing, kicking, even trying to pull out pieces. Lucifer doesn’t even flinch. Quite the opposite. He just laughs. The more Sam fights, the more he presses down with them. They’re heavy, and hot, and Sam doesn’t even have lungs but somehow he still feels like he’s smothering, like he’s fighting for air and fear, more than fear, sheer, primal terror courses through him as he gets down to his last few breaths, the space around him growing dark as he claws at the oppressive presence of Lucifer’s wings until, with a laugh, Lucifer eases up and Sam gasps, drawing in breath as though he still had a body, still had blood that needed oxygen to keep him alive. He’s long since given up trying to figure out why his brain is still holding on to the idea that the necessities his body required for living are still needed. He still feels starvation, heat, cold, pain, feels it all even more intensely than he did when he was topside. Some trick of Lucifer’s magic, he supposes. And Michael just sits there, the whole time, Adam too, just looking on. Neither of them interfere. Adam can’t even meet his eyes. Lucifer gives Sam just enough time to recover, just enough of a sense that he can breathe again, before bringing his wings down over him and the smothering sensation starts again, the panic more intense this time as his body’s fatigue makes him gasp harder, using up what little air--or what passes as air in hell, anyway--even faster. It isn’t Lucifer’s only form of torture, to be sure. But it’s one of his favorites.

* * *

Sam had thought he was out of the hole. Thought he’d had his life back. Thought he’d gotten Bobby back. Thought he’d gotten Dean back. Thought he’d gotten Castiel back even, but he didn’t. Lucifer’s winning. Dean’s insistence that he had saved Sam, that Lucifer wasn’t real and Sam was only imagining him no longer seems to mean anything at all. His trick with pressing his scar, the sharp, brief jolt of pain unlike the omnipresent, inescapable torture of Lucifer that reminded him where he was, reminded him that he had won, he was out, he had his life back, seems to be just another of Lucifer’s tricks. As near as Sam can tell, Lucifer was just letting him think, again, that he knew what was real when in reality Lucifer was still playing puppet master, pulling Sam’s strings. Lucifer was brilliant at physical torture, there was no denying that, but he was an absolute maestro when it came to pyschological games. And he’s in Sam’s head again. Talking again. And Sam’s given up trying to ignore him at this point. He’s too tired. Dean’s been gone to “get help” so long that Sam’s beginning to think he’s not coming back. How could he come back when he’s not actually there? When Sam’s in Hell and Dean’s living his life up on Earth, not out searching for a cure. Dean’s presence, Dean’s promises to find something to help, were all just tricks of Lucifer’s. 

“You’re not real,” Sam says again. It’s more out of sheer stubborness at this point than any conviction in the sentiment. Lucifer’s real. Dean was an illusion. Castiel was an illusion. Hadn’t he seen Castiel die? Right in front of him, and at his own hand. Why had he believed that Castiel had come back from that? That Castiel could come back from that? That Castiel would forgive him for a year’s worth of soulless indiscretions and countless affairs? What had made him think that he deserved that? In retrospect he could see Lucifer’s handiwork all over that hallucination. 

“You know that’s not true Sam,” Lucifer said, silky voice almost seeming to have a physical form that brushed over Sam’s body, wending it’s way through his hair, sending dread shooting down his back. “Would you like me to prove it to you?”

“Yeah,” Sam said with a shrug. “Sure, go on and prove it to me.” 

In retrospect, Sam realizes, he probably shouldn’t have challenged the devil. Lucifer stands up and walks over to Sam, a shadow creeping out from behind his back, slowly taking the form of gigantic black wings and that’s it. Sam’s convinced. He doesn’t need a demonstration. He cowers back in the bed, begging Lucifer now to stop. Admitting Lucifer’s real and Sam lost. They may be in the box, but the trade off for losing the Apocalypse is Sam’s soul to torture for eternity so Lucifer still won. 

But Lucifer doesn’t stop. The air is getting heavier and Sam’s heart is beating faster, straining to take in as much oxygen as he can before it grows scarce. Lucifer’s laugh is echoing in his head and Sam’s gulping for air, not bothering to beg anymore because he learned long ago that talking just uses up the remaining oxygen faster. His head is spinning and the room is growing dark when suddenly Sam hears a voice he’d given up for lost. It’s Castiel’s, and it’s calling to him. Sam opens his eyes to see Castiel’s face staring down at him, Castiel’s voice calling his name. “Sam,” he’s saying. “Sam, wake up! You’re hallucinating!”

Sam fights it, doesn’t want to give in to another of Lucifer’s lies. Dimly he hears Castiel saying “This isn’t working. I’m going to have to try something else. You should leave the room for this Dean.”

Through a haze he can hear Dean arguing, but Castiel’s insistent. There’s a click and then he hears Castiel’s voice again. But he can still feel Lucifer’s wings pressing over him, smothering him and he can’t respond. 

Then suddenly the pressure of Lucifer’s wings against his mouth is gone, replaced by the pressure of something else. Sam’s lungs are filled with oxygen again and as his head clears he realizes that Castiel’s lips are on his. As he’s trying to decide if this is really Castiel, and not some trick of Lucifer’s, he feels warmth surround him. A peace unlike any that he’d ever known since jumping in the hole with Lucifer, a genuine happiness beyond any that Lucifer had ever managed to conjure and suddenly he realizes that this--whatever is happening--is real and he wonders how he could have believed that he was still in the hole with Lucifer when he had this. He opens his eyes and sees Castiel sitting there and realizes that the sensation of warmth and tranquility seems to literally be surrounding him. He raises his hands and looks at Castiel with a startled sense of awe as his fingers brush against the silken softness of Castiel’s wings. Castiel shudders beneath his touch and then Sam collapses into Castiel’s arms, tears falling unchecked and Castiel keeps his wings firmly wrapped around Sam as he waits for the sobbing to subside. 

When it does, he kisses Sam gently but Sam returns the kiss ravenously, deepening it beyond the innocent reassurance of Castiel’s. Castiel responds in kind without hesitation and Sam loses himself to the sensation of Castiel’s hands and lips devouring his body within the cocoon of warmth and light that emanates around them in the form of Castiel’s wings. He reaches his hands out and again brushes them tentatively, reveling in the feeling of Castiel shuddering against his fingertips, the sound of Castiel moaning his name against Sam’s lips. 

There is nothing in Lucifer’s arsenal that could come close to approximating the feeling of safety that Castiel’s wings wrapped around him are giving him and Sam doesn’t have room in his heart for doubt anymore. He doesn’t doubt Castiel. He doesn’t doubt what they have. This is real. Castiel is real. More to the point, Castiel is his.


End file.
